Redemption
by myownmind
Summary: Sequel to 'Helplessness' by darkntwisted with permission. After surviving Tasha's abuse, Clint takes off by himself to the Rocky Mountains. It's an attempt to keep his sanity BUT he's not the only one in the mountains. When things start to go wrong for the archer can the others find him in time? Rated M just in case.
1. Chapter 1

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the characters from the 2012 'Avengers' movie. They belong to the people who created them in the first place and the actors who played the parts. I just need to borrow them for a while. I'll put them back when I'm done, more or less intact. Maybe. **

**DISCLAIMER 2: This story is based on a story written by 'darkntwisted'. I loved the premise and had to continue it when Tasha wasn't captured in the first part. I really enjoyed the story that darkntwisted wrote but mine will not contain as descriptive sexual violence, if at all. I haven't decided that. Thank you to darkntwisted for allowing me to do this. I hope you enjoy what I come up with. If any of our story lines converge the plagiarism isn't intentional and will hopefully be forgiven.**

**This is a beta free zone. Please be nice. Also PLEASE review. I really want to hear what my readers think of this story. **

**Thanks.**

Chapter One

It had been three long months since Tasha, aka Natasha Romanoff, aka Black Widow, had disappeared. Clint's, aka Clint Barton, aka Hawkeye, injuries had healed both physically and mentally. He still had nightmares on occasion, forcing him to relive that horrible hour at Tasha's tender mercies. There had been several missions since then all of them successful. All of them except for the ones when they thought they'd located Black Widow. Each time the Avengers were always just a little late.

The remaining Avengers were moved back into Tony Stark's Avenger Tower. The first time Clint had walked into his quarters the memories overwhelmed him. Several minutes passed before he'd managed to get control again. For the first while it happened everything he entered his quarters but slowly even that began to fade.

Clint hadn't seen Sarah since the last time she'd watched over him at night. He missed her, almost as much as he missed Tasha. Once they were back at the tower, though, he found small signs that she was back on the job, keeping his quarters clean. That gave him a small degree of solace. At least Sarah hadn't disappeared on him entirely.

Still, the longer the search dragged on, the more Clint found that the others' constant watch over him was grating on his nerves. No matter the mission Clint was never allowed to go alone. More than once he'd had to drag Steve or Thor with him when he could have done it faster and quieter on his own. His teammates' intentions were good but Clint was too much of a loner to not feel like he was trapped all the time.

In a last ditch attempt to maintain his sanity, Clint came up with a plan. A quiet three day trip to the Rocky Mountains where he could climb, hunt and be alone. It sounded like heaven. At the moment though, he was in front of Nick Fury and the rest of the team, defending his plan.

"I don't like the idea of you being out in the wilderness alone, Clint," Fury was saying. To Clint this was a formality. He was going whether the Avengers gave him their blessings or not. It was that or he was going to strangle Tony, and maybe even Bruce and Steve. He hadn't made up his mind about them yet.

"At least let me come with you," Steve suggested. The remaining Avengers were sitting in Tony Stark's living room, lounging in chairs. Clint was closest to the door. If he had to he could bolt. He wasn't too sure how far he'd get but he'd sure the hell give it the old college try. "It's been a long time since I went camping. I'd love to go."

"There won't be a lot of camping involved, Steve," Clint grated. He already had his pack set. He had no tent, just a sleeping bag, climbing gear, water and his bows and arrows. That was all he planned on using.

"Still," Steve pressed. He'd seen the archer in action and knew he didn't need to be babied but he'd seen first hand what Tasha had done to him. He found it very hard to not be protective of the man.

"NO!" Clint barked his calm reserve finally cracking. He stood up and began to pace around the room. So much for a quick getaway. "You're missing the point. This trip is for me to spend some time alone. That means no one else comes along."

"I can't allow that, Barton," Nick said as he shifted in his chair. "I interrogated Black Widow after she attacked you. She's obsessed with you, with making you suffer. We both know her training and what she's capable of. I can't in good conscience let you go anywhere without an armed escort."

"This isn't your choice to make. I'm going. The only thing up for debate is how I get there. If I go on my own I'll be gone five days, not three," Clint said as he stopped pacing. He was closer to the door, preparing to run. This was that important to him.

"That's not acceptable," Nick stated, carefully watching the man. He knew the archer was strung tighter than his bow. Refusing him would have dire consequences. Fury just wasn't sure he was ready to give in. He had to have some reassurance that they could find the man if they needed to.

"Too bad," Clint retorted. Turning, he headed towards the door. It didn't surprise him to find Thor blocking his way. He'd seen the blond god trying to flank him before he'd turned.

"Clint Barton, you should listen to Nick Fury. He has your best interests at heart," Thor stated, folding his arms across his impressive chest. The god looked very much like a brick wall. Frustrated, but not wanting to hurt the man, Clint turned around to face the others.

"Please, I need this." It was too close to begging for Clint's tastes but he was desperate. In all honestly the others could keep him here. The reality was hard to swallow.

"We should let him go," Bruce Banner said from his seat. He'd listened and watched. He knew how important this was to the archer. Even though he too had an over protective streak when it came to Hawkeye, they all did, they weren't helping him by keeping him under lock and key. At some point the man was going to snap and injure as many as he could before they brought him down by any means necessary. Bruce didn't want to be responsible for that or witness it.

"It's a bad idea," Tony stated. "Natasha is still out there, so is Gordon Cave."

"I know!" Clint shouted. This was worse than he'd imagined. He desperately wanted to go grab his pack and disappear. At this point he wasn't even sure he'd come back.

"Let him go," Bruce pressed. "What's the worst that can happen?"

The room went completely still. Clint felt his face burn hot. Automatically he dropped his eyes to the floor. They were all thinking the same thing. The worst thing possible, before death, had all ready been done to him. Staring at the floor, Clint refused to look at any of them. He could sense their thoughts even from a distance, the shock and the horror of Hawkeye being raped by a woman, his partner.

"Not a word, Stark," Nick Fury cautioned when he saw Tony about to throw his two cents in. That was the last thing the mortified archer needed. Sighing, he turned his attention back to Agent Barton. The man was the picture of dejection. "All right, Barton. We're going to put a subdural tracker in you in case we need to find you quickly. Also, you must wear your com and have it on at all times."

They were not concessions Clint wanted to make. Dragging his eyes up to look into Nick Fury's one good eye he reconsidered arguing. The man was not to be moved. "Thank you," Clint breathed, his shoulders slumping in relief.

"I'll have a helicopter take you where ever you want. First, Dr. Banner, please take Hawkeye below to place the tracker," Fury stated. That decided, he nodded at the gathered Avengers and left the room. He had other things to deal with now, including the ongoing search for Natasha and Gordon Cave.

"Lead the way, doc," Clint said, a smile slowly spreading across his face. He'd gotten permission. He was going to the mountains. The relief was so profound his knees were weak. Thor stepped out of the way and the two left Tony's quarters.

"This is a very bad idea," Tony said. He watched Clint and Bruce leave. Iron Man had a very bad feeling about the whole scenario.

"He'll be fine," Steve said. He hoped his voice held more confidence than he felt.

"Sure," Tony said as he too left his quarters. Pepper was going to kill him if he let anything happen to Clint. Tony wasn't sure he appreciated HIS girlfriend being so concerned with the archer but he was smart enough to keep his mouth shut. Grumbling under his breath, Tony headed to his own lab. There was something there he really needed to work on.

OOOOO

Behind him, Clint could hear the helicopter retreating. Taking a deep breath, he revelled in the aroma of pine needles and earth. The fresh air was invigorating. Clint felt the weight that had been on him since waking up on Tasha's carpet slowly lift from his shoulders as he took in the panoramic view around him.

Grinning, Clint shouldered his pack and arrows, leaving his bow hanging in his right hand. Still grinning like a school boy, he took off at a sprint from the rocky outcrop the helicopter had deposited him on. It felt so damned good to be able to run. It seemed like it had been an eternity. The grin turning to a full fledged smile, Clint ran down the slope from the out cropping to disappear into the forest beyond. It wasn't exactly home but at the moment it was close enough.


	2. Chapter 2

_**Disclaimer: I do not own anything to do with 'Avengers: the movie'. I am not making money of any kind on this story. I do not own the characters Sarah Gifford and Gordon Cave created by darkntwisted. I'm simply borrowing them for a while. ;)**_

_**Thank you to everyone who has taken the time to review this story and to add it to your alerts. I really appreciate your faith in me. I hope this chapter lives up to your expectations. Please let me know if you enjoy what I've written or if you notice any inconsistencies. Constructive criticism is always appreciated!**_

_**As always, this is a beta free zone so please be gentle. **_

Chapter Two

Clint spent the next several hours exploring. This was an area of the world he'd never been in before. The Rockers had always fascinated him but til now he hadn't had the chance. He loved every minute of it. Twice he saw white tailed deer grazing. Another time he was close enough to a steep rock face that he saw a pair of mountain goats eyeing him suspiciously. He made a mental note of the cliff face location. It would be the perfect place to spend some time climbing. Logging the information in his memory, Clint had left them alone.

He was having too much fun to kill anything. Maybe later. The only time he felt the least bit uneasy was when he came upon a large grizzly bear foraging for berries. Crouching downwind of the animal, Clint rested a hand on the nock of an arrow over his shoulder while he watched. His bow was all ready in his hand it hadn't left it since he'd climbed off the helicopter.

Eventually the bear ambled away, intent on finding its next meal. Clint stayed where he was, hidden by bushes and simply watched the bear. There was majesty and violence contained within that powerful body. The assassin had to appreciate that. Dropping his hand from the arrow, Clint set off again.

OOOOO

By evening Clint had covered a lot of ground and had a pretty good sense of the general area. He'd speared a fish in a stream he'd found down on the plains below with an arrow. After cooking it over a low fire, Clint sat and savoured every mouthful. It beat anything the chefs at Stark's tower could come up with. His stomach full and his thirst sated, Clint set about finding a place to spend the night.

Several minutes passed while he wandered through the forest, examining each tree he came to. It took a while but eventually he found one that satisfied him. Soon he was twenty feet above the ground, situated comfortably in a tree. He'd secured himself to the tree trunk with his climbing rope and was straddling a large branch. Sleeping on the ground had never seemed quite right to him.

The archer always felt more at ease watching the world from a position of height. No one could sneak up on him. There were very few surprises this far up. Resting comfortably against the tree trunk, Clint watched as the world around him slowly transitioned from day to night. Peace settled over him and the archer fell asleep.

OOOOO

Several times during the night Clint woke up to adjust his position in the tree. The last thing he wanted to do was fall out of it. As soon as he assured himself that he was secure, the archer would drift off again.

Sometime before dawn, Clint wasn't exactly sure when but the sun wasn't quite up, he was sound asleep when he heard a noise below him. Coming awake quickly, Clint caught hold of the branch he was straddling. He hadn't moved much, just enough to keep from falling off, but the motion telegraphed through the branch. By the time it reached the branch tip it rustled more than Clint would have liked.

Below him in the darkness at the bottom of the tree, the archer could hear occasional pops from dry twigs snapping and vague shuffled footsteps. His first impression was that it had to be hunters, because there were more than one set of steps, even though nothing was in season this time of year. The wounds were getting progressively closer to Clint's tree. Instinctually, Clint went very still and listened intently.

The sun was just beginning to rise, bathing the eastern skies a vivid pink and orange colour. Being higher in the tree, the sun light reached Clint first. Instantly he was blinded to what was happening below him. To anyone looking up, however, he would stand out like a sore thumb despite his dark clothes. Cursing under his breath, Clint began a slow, careful descent. Every move the assassin made echoed to the outer part of the canopy. So far, though, the people were still several yards away.

Clint was within ten feet of the ground when he saw the first man come into view. The assassin went completely still. The below him was dressed in fatigues, a semi automatic rifle held in front of him, and was moving as silently as he was capable of doing. But, he had obviously had some form of military training even though his fatigues showed no patches or insignias to tell Clint where.

Fear began to bubble through Clint's system. This wasn't right. From his position hidden in the tree, he watched the man trying to track him. It was the only thing that made sense. Either that or Clint was getting paranoid. A distinct possibility.

Just as the first man moved past Clint's tree, another two men came into view. They were travelling in a 'v' formation to cover more ground. Silently cursing his arrogance, Clint waited to see if they'd located him. The comm in his ear would allow him to notify the others but it would also draw attention from the men below, now he was too close. Now Clint was below the light from the morning sun and blended in with the darkness among the leaves. He'd deliberately dressed in black cotton cargo pants, black t-shirt, black jacket and black boots, so he could still hide in the shadows he was accustomed to.

Silently, the archer watched as the two men circled the tree he was in. They were staring at the ground, randomly using their boots to shift the detritus that covered the ground on the forest floor. They had to have followed Clint's tracks. He honestly hadn't expected to be followed and had taken few precautions. Still, his training was now automatic and he'd left very few signs. The men were good to have followed the trail this far. They weren't good enough to think of looking up, however.

Clint had a clear shot at all three men as they stood below his tree to silently discuss the situation using hand gestures. All three were heavily armed with assault rifles. Clint didn't want to try to take them on in a straight fight. He couldn't shoot arrows nearly as fast as they could shoot bullets. He had no idea if there were more. Judging from the hand gestures and the fact that they didn't appear to be wearing headsets, Clint voted for 'yes'. Slinging his bow and pack over his shoulder, Hawkeye drew his arms and legs in to prevent drag from the tree and dropped on top of them.

The man he landed squarely on top of smashed his head against the tree truck and went down like a rock. The other two were thrown off balance. One kept from falling and was turning to face Clint as the assassin stabbed him in the neck with an arrow. The third man had to take three steps to keep from falling. By the time he regained his balance, Clint was all ready on top of him, using the knife in his boot to silence the man permanently.

Breathing heavily, Clint dropped into a crouch to scan the area around him. The fight had been quick and quiet but he still had no idea how many people were involved in this. The last thing he needed was to be caught unaware. A few feet to his left, the man who'd struck the tree began to stir, low moans coming from him as he tried to force himself up into a seated position. One last glance around at the silent forest and Clint grabbed the guy from behind, bringing his knife up against his throat.

"Not a sound, unless I tell you," Clint growled. Against his chest he felt the man go tense as his predicament registered. The soldier went still as he waited for further instructions, his breath hitching in his throat. "Who are you? What are you doing out here?"

"Looking for you," the man said, his voice raspy round the knife. The man had been trained well. He tried to dislodge Clint and the knife in an expert move. Clint, however, was better trained and simply forced the man forward until he had his head pressed against the ground.

"Who are you?" Clint pressed as he gave the man just enough air to answer. He'd replaced his knife with his forearm and was restricting the soldier's air and blow flow to his brain.

"We like to call ourselves 'Cave's Crusaders'," the soldier sneered as he tried to pry his head out of Clint's grip. One of the man's hands slid down and made to grip the assassin in the groin. Clint stopped him at the last moment with his knee. "Black Widow sends her regards."

The words sent a spike of ice through Clint's heart. Stunned for a matter of seconds, it was still enough for the man under him to get loose. Catching hold of the soldier's hair, though, Clint began to beat his head against the ground until he finally stopped moving.

With a trembling hand, Clint wiped the sweat off his face as he pushed away from the dead man with his legs. Bile threatened to rise from his stomach, nausea assaulting him like a physical force. Breathe, breathe, breathe, Clint thought, the words quickly becoming a mantra while he tried to recover.

Seconds ticked by. Clint scanned the area around him while he swallowed thickly. The forest was still eerily quiet. That told him that he wasn't the only one here. The shadows created by the trees made searching for possible threats difficult. Unslinging his bow from his shoulder, Clint rose to a crouch and set off in a direction perpendicular to the one the soldiers had come from.

His legs were shaky as he took low running steps towards through the forest towards the edge of the mountain. He needed to get high, to see what was going on around him. The trees weren't high enough. All he could see from them were the trees around him. That wasn't going to keep him safe.

The assassin padded along the forest floor, his intense blue eyes trying to take in everything at once. As an afterthought he reached for his comm.. Clint stopped in his tracks, his eyes closing briefly as realization swept over him. Of course, some time during the fight by the tree he'd lost the damned thing. Moving to the nearest cover, Clint crouched by it and paused to consider his options. Did he go back for the piece of equipment or try to survive for two days until the helicopter came back for him? Neither option particularly appealed to him. The thought that Tasha had told 'Cave's Crusaders' about what she'd done to him unnerved the archer greatly. The fact that the soldier had tried to grab him like that pissed him off to no end. NO ONE was ever going to touch him like that again.

Sighing heavily, Clint scanned the immediate area. While still quiet, he couldn't see anyone or anything moving under the canopy of the trees. Quiet as a mouse, the assassin retraced his steps back to the three bodies he'd left. Within sight of his tree, Clint hunkered down among the overgrowth to make sure no one had moved. Just as he was about to break cover he saw movement out of the corner of his left eye. Staying still the blond archer slowly turned his head until he could track what he'd spotted.

There, a hundred yards away, moving with stealth through the trees were six more men. All of them were wearing fatigues, bearing assault rifles, and looking like they knew what they were doing. The man on point emitted quiet bird calls as he tried to contact the advance team. In the underbrush where Clint had left them, the three men's bodies were hidden. Clint knew that when they got close enough they would see them but for now he still had the edge.

Hissing under his breath, Clint abandoned the idea of searching for the comm.. The soldiers were going to see him no matter how careful he was. Remaining still, he waited while the group made their way by him. He needed to wait until he could use the bushes he was hiding in as cover. Intently, Clint watched them while one hand reached down into the soil and carefully rubbed dirt onto his face. This was getting serious.

Finally Clint felt he was safe to move. With a glance at the group, he slipped out of his cover and silently paced away. He moved as fast as he dared while still keeping a tree trunk, bushes or undergrowth between him and the soldiers. Still, he'd barely made a hundred yards when he heard a shout behind him. Instantly on the defensive, Clint tried to dive behind the nearest tree trunk from the shrubs he was currently using. He made it most of the way back into cover before the first bullets started to ricochet around him. Making the tree trunk, Clint paused for an instant before breaking cover and heading for the next trunk that was wide enough to protect him. As soon as he moved the bullets intensified.

Skittering back and forth between trees, Clint tried to make his way clear of the soldiers. His current run of luck continued. The soldiers didn't have to try to hide. They simply ran, shooting at where he was or where he had been. Drawing an arrow, Clint decided it was time to even the odds a little and to slow them down. Wasting precious time, he leaned around the trunk of the tree he was using as protection and shot at the lead man. As always his aim was true and the man dropped, an arrow sticking through his right eye and into his brain.

The fear burning through Clint's system helped to keep him sharp and moving with a speed and grace that appeared almost superhuman. He took down three of his six pursuers before he felt an abrupt, sharp pain stabbing through his right calf. The shock was bad enough that the assassin stumbled into the undergrowth. Barely breaking stride, Clint compartmentalized the injury and tried to roll back onto his feet. His right leg buckled as an eruption of white hot pain tried to drag him under into unconsciousness.


	3. Chapter 3

**Hello. Thank you so much to Bookdancer and Sinkme for taking the time to review this story. I fully intended to update it several times by now but real life and my muse weren't cooperating. I know where I want to go with this but getting there is turning out to be a slow, extremely painful process. I hope you can have the patience to get through this with me. **

**This update is pretty short. I'm very sorry about that. I wanted to get SOMETHING out before everyone thinks I've forgotten about this story. I haven't, I promise. **

**Thank you very much for your support.**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. I don't even own the original character Gordon Cave. He belongs to darkntwisted, whom has allowed me to borrow her character and her premise so that I could write this story. Thank you!**

Chapter Three

Panting, Clint tried again to reach his feet only to slam back down onto the ground. Behind him his pursuers had stopped firing, almost as if they could sense that their prey was wounded and vulnerable. Rolling onto his stomach, Clint pushed the vegetation out of the way. Faster than any other person on earth, the archer took down two more of the men.

Clint was just notching his third arrow when the last man standing turned tail and ran, shooting randomly behind him to keep Clint's head down. Ignoring the wild shots, Clint aimed at the man's retreating back. He was all ready at the edge of Clint's range but he let the arrow loose. A gratifying loud shout of pain told Hawkeye he'd hit the mark as he collapsed on the ground.

The pain was mind numbing in its intensity. Gritting his teeth, Clint rolled onto his back and brought his right leg up to examine the damage. A long line of curses oozed from his mouth as he ripped the material away to better expose the bullet wound. It had entered on the inside of his calf and exited on the outside. From the white bone fragments he could see in the exit wound the bullet had struck his ulna and radius, breaking the bones. No wonder he couldn't put any weight on it.

"Son of a bitch," Clint swore again as he collapsed onto the forest floor. The nausea was back with a vengeance. This time Clint didn't get the chance to combat it. Instead, he had time to roll over onto his left side and then he was vomiting helplessly.

Shaking like a leaf, Clint pushed his head away from the mess. Admitting defeat for the moment, the blond archer allowed his body to find the ground again. Lying there, he used his right hand to check the bones below his knee. The least pressure was agony.

Gulping air after he let his hand drop, Clint stayed where he was for a few more seconds. The man he'd shot wasn't dead. Clint could hear him alternating between screaming in pain and begging for help. Clint took stock of his available resources. He had more than enough rope to make a splint for his leg. He knew from past experience that he needed to immobilize the injured limb before he tried to move.

The vegetation he'd come to land on was a group of young saplings. Alone none of the tender green stems would be enough to secure his leg. By binding them together, though, he might be able to make a splint strong enough to at least get away from here. From the way the soldier was yelling one of two things was going to happen. Either his friends that he was plainly calling out for would show up or the bear Clint had watched the previous day may come to investigate.

The knife in the Avenger's boot was invaluable for cutting the saplings off at the ground and then removing all the branches. It was a struggle to get the pack out from under him but Clint retrieved one of the smaller, thinner ropes and used it to bind some of the saplings together until he had three reasonably strong sticks.

Sweat rolled into his eyes as his body reacted to the damage that had been done to it. Pausing long enough to wipe the sweat off of his forehead, Clint huffed a breath out to prepare himself for the worst part. He was going to have to put a tourniquet on his leg to stop from bleeding to death, pull the bones into alignment and then tie the splints in place. All the while, the soldier he'd injured continued to scream bloody murder.

Distantly Clint wished the man would just shut up. Pausing long enough to stick a fair sized twig between his teeth, Clint pulled his belt off and wrapped it just below his knee. Feeding it through the teeth, Clint tightened it as much as he could, a strangled scream broke through as he snapped the twig in two places. Collapsing back onto the ground, Clint spit what remained of the twig onto the forest floor and tried to recover enough to continue with the next part.

Lying on the ground, his back getting cold and clammy, Clint's breathing was shallow, ragged and fast. The pain was trying to overwhelm him, to drag him into the world of darkness. Deliberately, he slowed his breathing down and took longer pulls. The darkness began to recede, marginally. Swallowing thickly, Clint forced his pain ravaged body back up into a sitting position. Finding another twig, he thrust it into his mouth.

"Here's goes nothing," Clint murmured behind the stick. Bracing his broken leg with his good one, Clint pulled. The scream that followed wasn't stifled at all by the branch. Clint's body went rigid as the pain rampaged through his systems. The darkness pounced once again. Clint's body relaxed as it overpowered him.

OOOOO

How long Clint lie there, he'd never be sure. It could have been five minutes or two days but he preferred to think the former. Otherwise that soldier would have quit screaming, which he hadn't, and the sun would have moved from its position behind the trees.

Groaning softly, he once again attained an upright position. While not perfect, his leg was straighter than it had been. It was going to have to do. Panting with exertion and pain, Clint grasped his backpack, pulled the rope out and measured out a length of it. Quickly, he sliced through the nylon cord, fashioned a slip knot at one end and placed it within easy reach. Ready, Clint took two deep, calming breaths to prepare and then he leaned forward and placed the sticks against his calf.

All ready exhausted, Clint ignored his weakness and slipped the knot over his foot. He tightened it as much as he dared, gritting his teeth to keep another scream from spewing out, and proceeded to wrap the rope around the sticks, holding them securely in place. It wasn't fancy by any stretch of the imagination but it was going to have to do.

Finished, Clint collapsed back onto the ground, panting like a locomotive, his skin cold and slick with sweat. The wounded soldier had stopped screaming and was now merely muttering to himself. Clint could hear his voice but not the words he was saying. That was just as well, Clint didn't really care all that much. Grabbing hold of his backpack, Clint forced his body up from the ground.

The blond avenger almost managed to reach his feet. As soon as he put any pressure on his broken leg, it crumbled, sending him sprawling once again into the forest floor. Hissing against the pain, Clint looked around. He needed tree trunks to shuffle between or a strong branch to use as a crutch. They were his only options. After several minutes of fruitless searching, Clint finally located exactly what he needed.

Glancing towards the soldier`s location, Clint began pulling himself along the forest floor towards the large broken branch he`d seen ten yards in that direction. It was hard work. The ground was soft allowing him to sink his fingers into it and pull his body along, but it also sank underneath him, making progress more difficult. After several long minutes of fighting, the archer finally reached the branch. Just as he did he heard an all too familiar voice drift towards him on the gentle forest breeze. Tasha was here. The archer`s heart went cold.


	4. Chapter 4

_Hello. Thank you to everyone who has stuck around for this story, has taken the time to add it to your alerts and favourites. I hope the next chapter won't take so long but unfortunately at this point I can't promise that. I will promise to do the best I can. _

_Thanks again for your support._

_Susanne_

Chapter Four

Clint felt like he'd been running the Boston Marathon but in reality he'd only gone a quarter of a mile. His body was slick with sweat that the gentle forest breeze dried sending chills through him. His right leg was throbbing with an intensity that tried to take his breath away with each step. His left leg was trembling with fatigue. Clint was used to being able to do whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted. His body was a finely tuned machine. It really pissed him off that his body was failing him now.

Gritting his teeth against the moans and groans that were trying to worm their way out, Clint plodded on with a single minded determination. He knew he was leaving an unmistakable trail through the forest undergrowth but there was nothing he could do about it. A quick glance over his shoulder confirmed that he was still alone, for the moment. Swallowing fear and bile, Clint turned back around and continued on.

OOOOO

By the time he reached the river, Clint was barely moving with each step. He could hear footsteps somewhere far behind him but it did nothing to make him faster. His crutch was hard to hold onto because his hands were wet and clammy. He had both hands wrapped around the wood, trying to stay upright. Sweat poured down the sides of his face as well as down his sides, sticking his shirt to him and contributing to the chill that was threatening to take hold.

Pausing on the river bank, Clint took a good look around. So far he was still alone. He was thankful for that. The river bank at this point of the river was low. Clambering over it, the archer carefully stepped into the ice cold, slowly running water. He needed to clean out the wound and the river was just deep enough that it did it for him without his having to bend over. That was a good thing because he would have pitched face first into the water. In his current shape, Clint wasn't sure that he would be able to pull himself back out before drowning.

First contact was blinding pain. It took everything Clint had to keep from losing consciousness. Sucking breath as deeply as he could, Clint closed his eyes for a brief moment before scanning the world around him again. He had to find someplace to hide, to keep out of sight. The trembling of his left leg had spread to the rest of his body. Clint couldn't remember ever feeling so cold, even when Loki touched him with his sceptre and sucked his soul out of him.

Gritting his teeth, Clint carefully made his way up stream. He was sure he'd seen a small over hang somewhere along here that he might be able to fit under. He just hoped that it was dry enough that he wasn't going to start having problems with hypothermia on top of everything else. The current wasn't very strong and wasn't very fast but it still worked against him. After two or three minutes Clint had to admit defeat. He was simply too weak to make any headway in the water.

Bracing his body with the crutch, Clint stopped to look around again. Maybe, just maybe he'd missed something. Despair threatened to take over as he realized that he hadn't. His options extremely limited, Clint staggered towards the river bed on the opposite side. It was lower there but still not quite low enough. The gentle current of the water nearly knocked the blond archer over as he reached the edge. Struggling, he barely managed to catch hold of a low hanging branch and pull himself up onto the river bank.

By the time Clint reached the top of the bank and was no longer in danger of rolling back into the stream, he was exhausted beyond words. Lying on his back on the dense carpet of undergrowth, Clint breathed as hard as he dared and waited for the intense trembling of his limbs to stop. With what little strength he had left, Clint raised his head and looked down his body to scan the area on the other side of the stream. The foliage on the far river bank was blurry, almost cloudy. Just as he was wondering if it was his eyes or a thin veil of fog, darkness flowed over him.

OOOOO

Time passed. How much Clint didn't know and currently didn't care. All he knew was that he had to keep moving. With a great deal of pain, he rolled over onto his back and forced himself into a seated position. He was covered in sweat and debris from the forest floor and his body was shaking with a generalized fatigue that he had no hope of fighting. There was no way in hell that he could stand up so he was going to have to keep moving the only way that was currently open to him.

He was reduced to pulling himself along with his arms and dragging his butt and broken leg behind him. If the trail he'd left before had bothered him, the definite furrows he was leaving now nearly drove him insane. Hissing between clenched teeth, Clint continued on. The undergrowth was both a hindrance and a help. It pulled at him as he passed but it also gave him something to grab hold of and put his good foot against. Within a few yards he was sweating worse and the trembling had turned to a full blown shaking that was zapping the little tiny bit of strength he had.

Beyond his feet, Clint could see the unmistakable signs of his passage but so far that was all he could see. Grateful for that, Clint allowed his body another minute and a half before he began to consider trying to move. Just as he was bracing himself for the torture about to happen, Clint heard a twig snap to his right. Instantly, his bow was in his hand and he had an arrow nocked but could still not see what had caused the sound. Peering intently in all directions at once, he got a split second warning.

It was enough time, just enough. As the black clad leg began to emerge from the dense underbrush into the furrow Clint was lying in, the archer silently pulled the string back, prepared to send the arrow straight into the person's heart. The food attached to the leg came down between Clint's knees. Clearly the person didn't know he was there. Then the rest of them came into view. With a start, Nat became still as her predicament came to light.

"You wouldn't kill me," the red haired assassin said, a knowing smile on her face. "I'm your trusted partner."

"Throw down your guns or I'll put this arrow through your black heart," Clint responded, putting as much malice as he could into his voice. He hoped desperately that the weakness and fear he was feeling wasn't reflected in his voice.

"I don't believe you will," Nat said as she moved her foot ever so slightly. She'd noticed the splint and figured out instantly why Clint had been leaving such an obvious trail. All she had to do was put the least bit of pressure on the archer's leg and he would be hers again. The thought sent a thrill through her. Many a night since her rescue from Avenger tower she'd relived the last time she'd been with her partner. She desperately wanted to finish what she'd started.

To emphasize his point, Clint shifted the aim of his arrow slightly and pulled back just a little bit more. The movement brought Tasha up cold. Glancing down into Clint's clear blue eyes, Tasha realized she'd gone too far. There was nothing but hate reflected in those blue depths. Her heart froze as she realized he was going to release the arrow and it was aimed directly at her heart. Slowly, carefully, Tasha reached for her side arm and began removing her multiple weapons. Clint would know where they all were so she was careful to remove all of them.

"Now what?" Tasha asked. In the back of her mind she knew that all she had to do was yell and the other members of her team would be there in a heartbeat. For that matter she could key her radio but for some reason she didn't. Somewhere deep inside she was appalled by his current state.

"You are going to help me up and then you're going to help me get out of here," Clint responded. He grabbed one of the hand guns Tasha tossed on the ground and managed to move his bow onto this back and aim the gun at his former partner. It was easier to threaten her with the gun than with the bow. Then Tasha was bending over him and she was carefully pulling him to his foot. The world swam drunkenly, causing Clint to lean heavily against the woman's side. At once it was comforting to be this close to his partner, at the same time the contact made his skin crawl as images of what she'd done to him flashed.

"Where are we going?" Tasha asked as she scanned the forest around them. The other members of her team were on the opposite side of the river. There was little chance of them running across them, unless Tasha stayed out of radio contact for too long. That was what she was going to have to wait for. With her hand gun pressed into her left side, she waited for direction.

"That way," Clint responded, gesturing vaguely ahead. He couldn't see well enough to be more specific. He just knew he wanted to get the hell away from here and that with Tasha's help he could move a lot faster.

"Okay," Tasha responded. With Clint leaning heavily against her, Tasha set out. This was now what she expected to be doing. Oh, well, it felt too good on too many levels to disarm the man. She was going to see where this led. After that, the situation would change one way or another.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

Within half a mile the duo had reached a steep rock face and the end of Clint's endurance. Despite Tasha's help, Barton was rapidly slowing down again. Between the pain, shock and blood loss, his body wasn't doing what he wanted it to.

"How much longer do you plan to keep this up?" Tasha asked. Against her side she could feel her former partner's body trembling with fatigue and cold. The sensation sent a thrill through her. Surreptitiously, she pulled some of her support from the man. The faster Clint used up the last reserves of his strength, the happier the red haired assassin would be. She was intoxicated by the smell of his sweat. Damn but she'd missed him.

"Shut up," Clint grated. It was all he could come up with. He didn't have the brain capacity or strength to try for something more original. Each step left him gasping for breath and the world spinning drunkenly around him. He had no idea where they were going. At the moment he had no set plan at all except for putting more distance between the soldiers and himself.

"Charming," Natasha responded with a sneer. Just to see what would happen, she feigned a stumble, jarring Clint's injured leg. With a grunt, the archer collapsed to the ground, all of his strength evaporating under the onslaught of pain. Instinctively, he curled up into a fetal position, pulling his broken leg towards his body in an attempt to ease some of the wildfire burning through it. Chuckling to herself, Natasha stood back a foot or two and simply watched her partner while he writhed on the forest floor.

Suddenly, deep down inside, watching the blonde man who'd saved her life panting on the ground was enough to tighten Natasha's throat. Swallowing quickly, she turned away for a moment to collect herself. What the hell was going on? Mildly confused and bewildered, Tasha took another step back.

After what felt like an eternity, the pain finally ebbed to a level Clint could manage. Breathing better, the Avenger slowly untangled his body, being especially careful of his leg. Just rolling onto his back was a major feat. Lying at Tasha's feet, Clint gave up. He couldn't move any farther without food or medicine.

"Wimp," Tasha grated when she realized the man was making no effort to gain his feet. His face was slick with sweat and pale to be point of almost being transparent. There were deep lines of pain on his forehead, corner of his eyes and mouth. In the depths of his deep blue eyes, Tasha could see the torment living within him every time he looked at her. Right now, though, those blue eyes were closed as sleep or unconsciousness slipped over him.

Finally giving in, Tasha plopped down on the ground beside Clint. If she really wanted to she could simply walk away from the man. If she really wanted to she could restrain Clint and signal her men. All she really wanted to do was to sit beside him and wait patiently until strength returned to him or he woke up, whichever came first. Sighing in impatience, she prepared to spend time communing with the forest.

OOOOO

Nightmares haunted Clint's dreams. Sensations, smells, and pain beyond endurance assailed him while the archer tried to force his consciousness to the surface of his mind. He knew he was lying unprotected within inches of the person that had hurt him worse than anyone in the world. He knew that he desperately needed to wake up, to be able to protect himself. But, his body refused to respond. Instead, he was trapped in the nightmare of his memories.

OOOOO

Tasha quickly became bored. Apart from the random rock trickling down the rock face they were a few feet from there really wasn't a lot of other sound in the area. That is, if she ignored her partner's laboured breathing just a few inches away. That weaker, more compassionate part of her that knew and respected Clint felt her heart ache at the pain her partner was in. Looking down at Barton's sweat slick, pale face, Tasha knew she had to do something for him. The excuse was that Gordon Cave wanted the man to torture but it was enough of an excuse to get her moving.

Looking around, Tasha found what she needed. The twigs Clint had used to splint his leg weren't nearly strong enough. If they were going to go anywhere she needed to shore up his leg, to take pressure off the broken bones. The forest came just about up to the rock wall a few feet to Tasha's left. That was a good thing as she needed much stronger branches.

Effortlessly, Tasha pushed her body off the ground and paced to the nearest tree. It was huge enough to have some nice sized branches low to the ground. Reaching up, she pulled a knife out of her boot that Clint never knew about and began sawing at the wood.

OOOOO

With a gut wrenching start Clint came back to the world. The only thing that kept him from screaming was the gag Natasha had stuffed into his mouth. It felt like someone was trying to rip his leg off but his eyes wouldn't clear up enough for him to figure out who it was. The pain was so intense that he was unable to catch his breath or control any part of his body. Clint's hands were clawing at the ground uncontrollably. Tears leaked out of the corners of his eyes that had slammed shut as the agony registered.

"Such a wimp," Tasha mumbled as she tugged one last time, to make sure the bones were aligned properly. Satisfied, ignoring the torment she was causing the man under her hands, Tasha braced Clint's lower leg with first one straight branch and then two more before she tightly wound the wood in place with the rope she'd scavenged from Clint's earlier attempt. The one concession she'd made was to wrap a spare shirt from Clint's backpack around the wound to try to stop the bleeding.

"There," Tasha said as she sat back on her haunches to inspect her work. Absently, she reached over and pulled the gag out of Clint's mouth. The last thing she'd wanted was to draw the attention of the soldiers. She didn't bother to take the time to think about that.

Clint momentarily thought about swearing at the woman but that would take too much energy. Now that the bones were reset the pain had diminished to little more than a sharp ache but his body was still reeling from the aftershocks. The only other positive thing was that his body had remembered how to breathe. Now it was drawing in great gasps of air, keeping him from saying anything.

"Are you going to spend the rest of the day lying here or are we going to get moving again?" Tasha asked in a conversational tone. As if to prove her point, Tasha stood up, shouldered the backpack and then offered Clint a hand up.

Again resisting the urge to swear at her, Clint stayed on the ground for a few minutes more, trying to catch his breath. His leg felt better and worse at the same time. Sweat had broken out all over his body as a delayed reaction. The liquid was now evaporating, lowering his body temperature. If he didn't start moving soon he probably wasn't going to. Taking a deep breath to steel his nerves and his body, Clint reached up, caught hold of Tasha's hand and allowed her to pry him off the ground.

"Where to now?" Tasha asked, looking expectantly at Clint. Deliberately she ignored the way the man swayed drunkenly on his one leg and the new pain that was dulling his blue eyes. This was his deal, she didn't plan on making any decisions unless absolutely necessary.

"Uhhhh," Clint hedged, trying to get his bearings despite the way the world was tilting crazily under him.

"Well?" Tasha pushed, enjoying the man's confusion.

Taking a deep breath, Clint scanned his surroundings, running a trembling hand over his face while he considered. He remembered this place, dimly. He'd passed near it during his initial explorations. His initial plan to stay near the river until the helicopter returned came back. This rock face eventually intersected the river, creating a long, broad waterfall. It was a long shot but he thought maybe there was a ledge behind the waterfall that would serve their purposes. It was rather cliché but it was the best his pain filled, exhausted, dehydrated mind could come up with.

"That way," Clint mumbled, vaguely indicating along the right side of the rock face with one hand.

"Sure, why not," Tasha responded, a slight smile on her lips. That way led TOWARDS her men. That suited her just fine too. After all, to do the things she was planning on doing to the man leaning heavily against her, Tasha was going to need walls and solid ground. She really didn't want to be picking pine needles and bugs out of her butt. Faster than before, the two of them trudged off along the rock face.

**AN: Hi. I'm not sure that anyone is still waiting for this story. I'm so sorry it's taken so long to update. I hope you enjoyed this short chapter. The next one will be longer and will take a lot less time to update. I hope.**

**Susanne**


	6. Chapter 6

_A/N: HI! Yes! I'm still alive and still writing this story! Hopefully readers are still waiting. I hope to finish this very soon but it keeps dragging itself out. I hope it hasn't dragged itself out too long. Let me know what you think. Please?_

Chapter Six

"Well," Tasha said with forced enthusiasm. "This is fun."

"Shut up," Clint growled with what little breath he had. By his shaky reckoning they should be getting close to the waterfall. It wouldn't come any too soon. What little strength the archer had managed to gather to himself had long since evaporated. He knew that they should be able to hear the rush of the water flowing over the falls but all he could hear was the rushing of his own blood in his ears.

"That's eloquent," Tasha scoffed. She could feel her partner's body trembling with fatigue, fever or exhaustion. She wasn't sure which one of the possibilities was the reason but she didn't care enough to find out. The old part of her was deeply concerned. She could feel the heat rolling off Clint in waves. The newer, less concerned part didn't bother to notice. All she noticed was the flashes of pain that contorted his face, making it even more beautiful to her.

They were trudging through the dense foliage under the tall trees. Neither one made much noise despite Clint's injury. It was a talent that was instinctual to both of the master assassins. It had served them well for many years.

Just as Clint's body stopped working all together, Tasha brought them up short on the edge of the river. Ten feet to their left was the water fall. From where they were standing, well, Tasha was standing while Clint leaned heavily into her side, the red haired assassin could make out the ledge that ran behind the sheet of water on their side of the river.

"I wasn't planning on getting wet," Tasha gripped. It really didn't matter much. Her side that was pressed against Clint's was slick with his sweat. At least the water was clean. She just wanted to make sure Barton knew how much of an inconvenience this all was.

Not bothering to respond, Clint stumbled towards the ledge. If he could just get there maybe he'd be okay. Somehow he doubted that, though, as his vision swam alarmingly and it took everything he had to take a single step. How had he gotten so weak so quickly?

By the time they reached the ledge Tasha was carrying Clint. The man had nothing left. It took every ounce of residual strength he had to just stay conscious. He was only dimly aware of them passing through the thin screen of falling water and entering the empty space behind the waterfall. The rock ledge was slick with green, slimy algae growing over it. Clint promptly lost his footing. For some reason Tasha couldn't make herself stop him.

With a resounding crash, Clint hit the hard surface. Somehow he managed to keep his right leg from taking most of the blow but it still shook him to the core. Then the pain spread through him. In an instant Clint was unconscious.

"Great," Tasha grumbled to herself as she stared down at the sprawled figure. In the flickering light that filtered through the waves of water, Tasha could see just how very pale Clint had become. The ledge they were on was damp where they were but drier further in. Grumbling again under her breath, Tasha unceremoniously caught hold of the assassin's arms and pulled him over to the edge of the ledge where it joined the rock wall.

A low groan escaped when Natasha dumped Clint onto the floor. While she watched, the blonde assassin unconsciously rolled over onto his left side, his limbs contracting into a fetal position. It took a few moments for her to realize that it was very damp and cold where they were and he was probably reacting to it. Sighing heavily, she dumped the backpack on the ground and rummaged through its contents.

"Typical," Tasha muttered. Clint was doing his survivalist thing again. The only thing of real use was the sleeping bag. Still grumbling under her breath, Tasha laid the bag out on the ground beside Clint, roughly rolled him into it and threw the other half over his still tightly balled up body. The last thing she did was kneel beside Clint and do the zipper up. Without taking the time to consider her actions, Tasha slipped out from behind the waterfall.

OOOOO

The first thing Clint became aware of was that he was incredibly thirsty. The second thing he realized was that he was warmer than he'd expected. The third thing was that he hurt, a lot. Groaning loudly despite his best efforts, Clint tried to straighten his body out. That didn't go well. He only got his legs straightened part way before the pain grew to be too much and he lost all strength. Consciousness left swiftly.

OOOOO

The dreams were back. Clint felt Tasha's hands on him. He smelled her body wash and shampoo as well as other smells he'd never wanted to know about her. Tasha was behind him. Clint was cuffed to his bed. It was the last time Tasha had attacked him. Fear gnawed at his stomach and bowels. Not again! Please, God, not again! The thought/prayer raged through Clint's mind. The pain increased exponentially. Clint could barely draw a breath.

The sensations burned through him. Tasha was touching him in places he'd never given her permission to. His skin crawled at her touch. His being wanted to crawl away and hide in a corner. Not again.

"Barton?" The voice was too familiar, too jarring. Then a rough shake of Clint's shoulder dragged the man out of the dreams into the nightmare. Kneeling beside his prostate body was Natasha. The woman didn't seem to be concerned at all, just pissed off. Not sure he was fully awake, she shook his shoulder again.

"Don't touch me," Clint grated as he pulled away. That was not a good idea. His broken leg snagged inside the sleeping bag, sending ever increasing cascades of pain ripping through his knee up to his hip and side. Moaning, Clint went completely still except for turning his head away from Tasha. Tears had sprung into his eyes in response to the pain and the dreams. He wasn't about to let the woman responsible for his most recent scars see him cry.

"A little touchy, aren't we?" Tasha responded with a bright smile on her face. Ignoring the fact that Clint tried to pull away from her, the red haired assassin brought his head around and held his container of water to his mouth.

Angrily, Clint wrenched the skin away from her. There was no way in hell he was letting her any closer than necessary. Drinking hungrily, Clint unconsciously tried to move a few inches further away but Tasha had him up against the wall.

"Not so much water, Ace, or else you'll be puking it up," Tasha cautioned after he'd drained a quarter of the skin. It was easy to pull it out of Clint's hands. The archer really was weaker than she'd ever seen him. This thought both thrilled and sickened her. Under Clint's blue gaze, Tasha moved a few feet away from him, still wrapped tightly in his sleeping bag, and began setting up a small fire.

"You left," Clint stated. He knew he'd been unconscious but somehow he assumed that Tasha had stayed here with him or that he hadn't been out long. Seeing the fact that she had him in his bag, had his water skin full and enough dry branches to start a fire quickly changed his mind. That didn't make sense. Why hadn't she contacted her people? Why hadn't she simply tied him up and handed him over to Cave?

"Yeah," Tasha responded, not bothering to look up from her task. Clint needed the heat despite the sleeping bag. She also wanted to look at possibly cauterizing that wound in his leg. The bandages she'd used earlier were all ready dark with blood. The man couldn't afford to lose much more blood.

"Where are your friends? Are they coming?" Clint asked. Slowly, carefully, he was trying to unwind his limbs. If he was going to have to protect himself he wasn't going to be able to do that wrapped up in the damned sleeping bag. By the time he got his legs relatively straight and his arms out of the bag he was covered in sweat and shaking like a leaf again. Taking great breaths, he tried to recover.

"No, they aren't coming," Tasha said, unsure of why they weren't. While she was outside the waterfall she'd had plenty of time to turn her radio on and contact the soldiers still combing the other side of the river. But all she'd done was a routine radio contact, making sure they were still on the far side of the river. When they'd asked about her long silence she'd come up with a lie. She was tired of trying to figure out why she wasn't turning Clint in so she simply stopped thinking about it. "I sent them farther west."

"Why?" the question came out before Clint took the time to consider the ramifications. Did he really want to know the answer? Would the question cause Natasha to reconsider her decisions and turn him in after all? Resting where he was, Clint waited for her reaction.

"I don't know!" Tasha hissed. She was still concentrating all of her considerable attention on the fire. She'd long since gotten it started but was now placing dry rocks around it so they would absorb the heat and retain it after the fire went out. "Just shut up."

Watching Tasha, Clint chose to listen to her. He was seeing some of the old Natasha in her actions and the way she moved. But then, out of the blue, she'd begin moving the way she had in his quarters. The transition was rapid and seamless. It was also extremely disturbing to watch. It was as if there were two distinct people inhabiting Natasha's body. Which he supposed was closer to the truth than he ever wanted to admit.

The ground was very hard and a damp cold was seeping through the sleeping bag. Clint could feel his muscles beginning to stiffen in response. He desperately wanted to get the hell out of this bag and start running as far from this dual personality Natasha as his battered body would let him. However, all he managed to do was to get a slight bit more comfortable and then sleep stole over him without warning.

The fire burning merrily, Tasha glanced over her shoulder at the dark lump that consisted of her partner. In the flickering light from the waterfall and the fire, she could see the deep lines of pain on Clint's face. The uncertain light also made Clint's sweat covered face look so much younger than he was. Tasha stepped towards him. Her heart was in her throat as she imagined the agony the blonde archer had been going through since she drugged him that first time. With a trembling hand Tasha reached out to brush some of his sweat damp hair off of his forehead.

Within an inch of reaching the stray blonde hair Tasha's hand steadied, stopped and pulled back. Growling under her breath, Tasha moved back to the fire. Angrily, she placed her knife into the now bright red coals at the bottom of the fire. She was going to cauterize Clint's leg. It was better to do it while he was asleep. Then she wouldn't have to listen to him whine and complain about it. While she waited, Tasha's eyes kept being drawn from the fire over to Clint's peaceful face.

OOOOO

With a scream Clint came around. Panting enough to scream again, Clint was only aware of the all consuming pain in his right leg. Instinctively he tried to get away from whatever was ripping his leg off. His eyes weren't functioning well enough in the dim light to see exactly what was going on. He was responding purely on base instinct. Up on his elbows, he kicked with his left leg to dislodge the dark hulk hunched over his right leg while he pulled his body backward.

Growling in frustration, Tasha reached over and lightly struck the bullet wound. A third scream was ripped from Clint as his elbows collapsed under him.

"Shut up!" Tasha called over the dying sound of the scream. "I'm stopping the bleeding in your leg."

"Get off me!" Clint responded as he tried again to pull away. He was too weak to do much of anything but it hurt so badly that all he wanted was to get away.

"Shut up!" Tasha shouted. It was bad enough that she had to smell Clint's flesh burning against the blade of her knife, she didn't want to listen to the agony in his screams. Letting go of the knife for a slip second, Tasha moved up, pulled her arm back and slugged Clint soundly in the side of the head. Instantly the fighting stopped as he tumbled once more into unconsciousness.

"That's better," Tasha said as she settled back to the knife. The blade had cooled so she pulled it off the inside of Clint's leg and placed it back into the fire. One hole plugged. One more hole to go. While she waited, Tasha glanced over at her charge.

To get at Clint's leg she'd had to unzip the sleeping bag and pull it off his lower half. Then she'd taken his boot off and sliced the leg of his pants up to just above his knee. Luckily the splint hadn't had to come off but she had cut the bandage out from under the branches and thoroughly cleaned the ugly wounds on both sides of his lower leg. Satisfied, she'd pulled the knife out of the fire and applied the blade to the first of the holes. Clint hadn't appeared to appreciate her attempts to help him.

Now that the blade was hot enough again, Tasha picked it out of the fire and slid over to Clint's side. She knew the pain was incredible but it couldn't be helped. She needed to stop the bleeding now. Bracing herself for another bad reaction, Tasha caught hold of Clint's lower leg with one hand and used the other to apply the blade to the outside hole.

As soon as the blade pressed into his skin, Clint's body stiffened in response, his limbs vibrating in response. Low whimpers slipped through his tightly clenched lips. In the firelight she could see tears seeping out of the corner of his right eye, his left eye being in shadow. His face was twisting as the pain registered and flowed through his nerve endings. Tasha was just glad she'd knocked him out all ready. Finally, the wound seemed to be sealed. Pulling the blade away from Clint's tortured flesh, she stuck it back into the fire to clean it.

Almost in a daze Tasha turned back to Clint. Absently she wiped at his sweaty face with a damp piece of cloth while the archer slowly came down off the crescendo of pain that had been washing over and through him. Her other hand came to rest on Clint's stomach. She hadn't meant to put it there it just happened. At first she wasn't even aware of it while she tried to get most of the sweat, tears and spittle off Clint's face. Then she realized that the only thing between her hand and his smooth, beautiful stomach was a thin piece of cloth under that damned sleeping bag.

"No, I can't do that," Tasha said to herself as she pulled her hand away as if she'd touched something hot. Images of Clint on his bed, under her complete control overwhelmed her senses for several seconds. She could feel his skin, smell his body, his fear. It was intoxicating. Absently her hand fell down to land just above the belt holding Clint's cargo pants in place. While she relived the whole experience from start to finish, Tasha's fingers rubbed and picked at the material.

"No!" Tasha wrenched her mind out of the past and planted it firmly in the present. Quickly she removed her hand and moved a full five feet away from Clint's unconscious form. Sitting by the fire, she sat on her feet, wrapped her arms around her knees and began to slowly rock. This was the old Tasha. The Tasha that loved Clint as her partner and friend. The Tasha that was sickened to the point of unconsciousness by what she'd allow to be done to her friend. Still rocking, Tasha stared into the fire. This time other memories flowed through her mind. Memories of Budapest...of the first time she'd seen Clint when he was supposed to kill her...of Clint as he came back from being possessed by Loki. Somehow these memories did little to make her feel any better. Five feet away Clint continued to be oblivious to the fight going on inside the woman's mind and soul.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

The world shifted unsteadily under Clint's feet. Never one to be effected by sea sickness, Hawkeye still felt bile rising in the back of his throat. Swallowing thickly, Clint rocketed back to the world. That didn't help as the pain burning through his leg added to the nausea. All Clint had time to do was turn his head before he was vomiting helplessly.

"Great," Tasha grumbled from her position near the fire. "Now I'm the maid service." Quickly unwinding her long body, the master assassin strode over to her partner's heaving body. The smell seemed especially awful in the cool dampness of the world behind the waterfall. Ignoring it, she moved Clint onto his left side in the 'rescue position' while he continued to wretch.

"You can stop that any time," Tasha grated. The mess was bad enough. Seeing her partner so helpless was enough to turn her own stomach. Suddenly feeling the need to do more, Tasha pulled the sleeping bag up and around Clint's back. The blonde archer's body was still heaving although nothing was coming out, but now he also began to tremble, hard.

Silently, Tasha crouched two feet away and watched Clint by the flickering fire light and the light filtering through the water. He looked very young and very old at the same time. The fight boiled within Tasha's mind. The old Tasha wanted to pull Clint into her arms and protect him until he was able to do it himself. The new Tasha wanted to strip the man naked and use him to her own purposes. The urge burned through her like an all consuming fire.

Growling deep in the back of her throat, Tasha squashed the urge. Tears sprang into the corners of her eyes as she fought desperately against everything Gordon Cave had shoved into her mind. While Black Widow continued to watch her partner, Clint's face randomly contorted as pain washed over him. The heaving had settled down some but she could still see his stomach muscles spasming even through the sleeping bag. Clint's mouth was hanging open and his eyes were tightly screwed shut. She couldn't tell for sure if he was unconscious, asleep or awake. She hoped for his sake that he was unconscious.

"Nat." The single word was spoken so quietly Tasha wasn't sure she actually heard it over the other sounds in the cave. But she'd seen Clint's tightly drawn lips move ever so slightly. Tears were pricking the corners of his eyes while he rode the sensations flowing over his body. The pain was the most overpowering of the sensations, followed closely behind that was a deep cold that seemed to be coming up from the core of his being. Far behind that were thirst and hunger. In a weak nanosecond the name had slipped out.

The agony, fear and despair contained in that one word was enough. Abruptly, the other Tasha, the one who liked to hurt Clint, to degrade the archer was gone. In her place sat a shaky, ashamed Natasha Romanoff, agent of SHIELD and Clint Barton's partner. Shaking like a leaf with both relief and shame, Natasha covered the distance between her and her partner in a heartbeat.

Tentatively, tenderly, Tasha reached out to her trembling partner. Clint had finally stopped dry heaving but he was still stiff with pain. Carefully, Natasha pulled Clint closer to the fire by using the sleeping bag to slide him over the smooth rock. Once he was close enough, Tasha pulled the sleeping bag over as much of his body as she could and then settled down behind him. Feeling like a traitor, she wrapped her arms around his trunk, trying to give him her body heat. There was something entirely alien and deeply familiar about holding the archer's leanly muscled body.

At first, Clint's body stiffened in response to Natasha's closeness. Her partner's response lowered her spirits even further. Of course Tasha didn't blame Clint. The memories of what she'd done to the blonde man were burned forever in her mind, as she was sure they were burned in his. As time passed, though, Clint's rigid body slowly loosened as the heat from her body, the fire and the sleeping bag chased the cold away and sleep began to overtake him.

Lying behind Clint, Tasha considered her options. Clint needed help, fast. The fastest way would be to radio Cave's men and tell them their location. The only problem was that this option handed Clint over to the man who wanted desperately to torture and break the archer. That was no option at all. Pulling out her radio, Tasha stared at it for a few moments while she built up her nerve. A quiet moan from Clint as the pain reasserted itself forced her into action.

It was a long shot but one she was willing to take. Adjusting the band on the radio, Natasha keyed it. Speaking quickly, she gave the codes that were valid for when she was last herself and waited.

OOOOO

"Sir," a radio operator called to Nick Fury. The Director of SHIELD was sitting on the command deck, glumly watching his people work.

"What?" Fury snapped in uncharacteristic temper. Stark had informed him about his following Clint's tracker. The erratic nature of the movements alone wasn't enough to justify sending the helicarrier after him. The fact that Clint had spent the night in one location and then spent a good part of the next few hours running still wasn't enough to concern the director. It was when Stark showed him of the abrupt, slow progress followed by slightly faster progress that included back tracking that he became concerned. Now that Clint's tracker had virtually dropped off the face of the earth except for random, weak pulses, all in the same location, Fury himself was heading out to retrieve the agent.

"I just received a message from an ID number that traces back to Agent Natasha Romanoff," the operator said. The waver in his voice told Fury that he was unsure about telling him about this. Apparently, Fury had been living up to his name of late. Deliberately, the one eyed man tried to remove the danger from his countenance. The man's statement, however, brought the black man up short.

"Are you sure about that?" It was a stupid question. Of course his people were thorough enough to have checked before bringing it to his attention but the question had been automatic.

"Yes, sir, the ID is old but it still comes back as the Black Widow's," the operator assured him. Keying the intercom, Fury filled Captain Rogers in quickly, trusting the blonde man to fill in the rest of his team. "Where is the signal coming from?" Fury asked once he was done.

It took a moment for the operator to run it down. What he found shocked him. Turning in his seat to face his boss, the man looked almost apologetic. "It's coming from the same location as Agent Barton's tracker."

"Can we go faster?" Fury asked even though he all ready knew the answer.

"No, sir, any faster and we will break every window between here and our destination," the helmsman responded.

Cursing under his breath, Fury turned as he heard the arrival of the other members of the Avengers. Banner looked rumpled as usual. Fury knew the doctor hadn't left his lab since coming aboard. Stark, dressed in jeans and a t-shirt looked rather unassuming but Fury knew he too had spent the whole trip thus far in the lab. He had no doubt the genius billionaire was coming up with something that will help them locate their archer. Captain Rogers looked all spit and polish, just as Fury had expected. Thor was notably absent as he was currently on Asgard, trying to deal with an issue with Loki.

"What do we know?" Rogers asked as he came up to face Fury. There was an eagerness, intentness in the man's blue eyes that was somewhat off-putting but Fury ignored it. He knew the captain was worried about the archer, just as much as the rest of them were.

"Is she still on the radio?" Fury asked, temporarily ignoring the question.

"Yes, sir," the radio operator responded.

"Put her on speaker," Fury ordered. With a warning glance at the Avengers, he waited for the operator to nod. "Agent Romanoff."

"Director Fury," Tasha's voice responded, sounding slightly tinny over the helicarrier's speakers.

"To what do we owe this pleasure?" Fury asked. He had no idea what was going on. The woman could be contacting them simply to gloat but for some reason, he didn't think so.

"I know you have no reason to trust me. I've done terrible things. But, Agent Barton is here with me and he needs help," Tasha's voice rang out to them.

"What do you mean, Agent Romanoff," Fury asked. Behind him, he could feel Stark and Banner virtually vibrating, anxiously waiting for their turn to ask questions.

"He's been shot. The wound would not stop bleeding. I was forced to cauterize it. Gordon Cave's men are on the other side of the river, searching for Clint at this moment. You need to come get him as soon as possible," Tasha said. Underneath the carefully controlled voice, Fury heard the fear and concern the woman was trying to hide. There was something there, an edge, a tone, that told him she was telling the truth.

"We are on our way now. Where exactly are you?" Fury asked. He knew the latitude and longitude that corresponded to Clint's tracker but it didn't really tell them what he needed to know. The damned thing kept blinking in and out, thwarting their attempts to get an exact location.

"We're behind a waterfall. Other than that I can't really tell you," Tasha admitted. While the automaton that Cave had turned her into had been in charge Tasha only had a vague recollection of the ground they'd covered. Against her stomach and chest, Tasha felt Clint shift. A small moan escaped from his mouth. Then his body abruptly stiffened as he came back around and the pain pounced mercilessly on him.

Through the speakers, Fury and the Avengers heard the moan. Instantly the tension in the room increased tenfold.

"What the hell did you do to him?" Tony demanded. Banner and Rogers had also taken a step towards the speaker as if they could reach through the electronic device and beat the woman senseless.

"He was shot when we found him," Tasha responded, unconscious of the fact that she'd referred to herself in the plural. It had seemed completely natural. "We've been trying to keep him alive ever since."

"Who is 'we'?" Fury asked.

The line went silent while Tasha fought through the options. There was such shame and anger associated with the whole episode. Desperately she wished she could get Gordon Cave within arm's length. She'd kill the bastard with her hands. " 'I'," Tasha said finally. "I found him and have been trying to keep Clint safe since."

"I know how you 'take care' of Clint," Stark growled angrily. "Why should we believe you?"

"You shouldn't," Tasha admitted without pause. "But please, hurry up. Clint needs medical attention."

"We are ten minutes out," Fury stated, putting an end to the discussion.

OOOOO

Ten minutes had never seemed like an eternity before. Tasha resorted to pulling Clint into her lap as his condition continued to deteriorate. No matter what she did, she couldn't seem to get the man warm. Even sitting as close as she could to the fire, with Clint wrapped in his sleeping bag and braced against her body, the man continued to shiver and shake. While she held him, Clint seemed to remain oblivious to her presence. She could feel through the sleeping bag waves of heat rolling off of him. As hard as she'd tried, she hadn't gotten his leg clean enough fast enough, an infection was setting in.

It was with great relief and trepidation that Tasha heard someone approaching on the ledge of the waterfall. Whether it was Cave's people or Fury's didn't really matter to her at the moment, just so long as Clint was going to be helped. Still, she pulled out the blade in one hand and her gun in the other, just in case Cave's people needed convincing to not injure Clint further.

The first one through the curtain of water was Rogers. The captain looked ready to take on an army as he stepped through, his shield in one hand and gun in the other. Right behind him was Stark in his Iron Man suit. Relief flowed through Tasha as tears gathered in the corners of her eyes. Within her grasp she felt Clint shift, and then his body stiffened again as he reacted to the resulting pain.

"Step away from him," Stark ordered as he held up both his hands, ready to hit the woman with jets of air.

"Stark," Rogers warned as he carefully stepped forward. There was something in Natasha's eyes that told him that Clint was no longer in danger. But, given Natasha's earlier ability to fool them, Captain Steve Rogers wasn't willing to take a chance. In the fire light, the archer looked horrible. Moving a little faster, Steve knelt down beside Clint's semi-prone position. "Where was he shot?"

Without a word, Tasha pulled the sleeping bag off of Clint's leg, revealing the raw, angry and swollen bullet wound. "I...she...the other me did that to him. The wound wouldn't stop bleeding. It seemed like the only option," Tasha said, her cheeks burning brightly.

Behind Steve, Stark let out a string of curses upon seeing the wound. Brushing Steve aside, carefully extracting Clint's now limp body off of Tasha's lap, Stark picked the archer up. Not bothering to wait for the others, he turned and stalked out of the cave.

OOOOO

Landing on the deck of the helicarrier, Tony refused to hand Clint over to the medics that were waiting for him. Holding the archer a little closer to his chest, Iron Man strode towards the medical center. From the commotion behind him he knew that Natasha and Rogers had been brought up from the waterfall. He didn't even bother to turn around. The only thing that mattered to him at the moment was getting Clint to Banner. It terrified him how weakly Clint struggled against him, how low moans seemed to be coming out with each breath. He couldn't get to Banner fast enough.

"Put him there," Dr. Bruce Banner instructed, indicating the nearest bed.

"Do your thing, Doc," Stark said as he gently laid Clint out on the examination bed and took a step back. Banner swooped in, expertly cutting Clint's pants further up before examining the devastation below Clint's knee.

"How bad is it?" Tony asked. His dark eyes were troubled now that the face mask of his helmet was open.

"Give me a minute," Banner responded as he continued his examination. Everything he found made his blood run a little colder. In the back of his mind, 'the other guy' was rumbling angrily. Banner stifled the thoughts.

Under his fingers, Clint's muscles flinched involuntarily with the contact of his latex gloved fingers. Banner used his professional detachment to continue. The bones in Clint's lower leg were obviously broken. He couldn't tell for sure in how many places without x-rays. The radiological surveys were going to have to wait, though, for now Bruce needed to deal with the nasty looking wound burned into Clint's skin.

"Is it as bad as it looks?" Tony pressed. Rogers and Fury had arrived and were hanging in the background, unwilling to get in Banner's way. Tony had no such hesitations. He had a much scarier person to answer to. Pepper was waiting impatiently to hear too. His girlfriend's concern for the archer was somewhat disconcerting to the billionaire.

It took Banner a minute or two to respond. "He's going to have a hell of a scar thanks to the cauterization but so long as we can get the infection under control he should be fine."

"Thank you, Dr. Banner," Nick Fury stated, relief flowing through him. The director was also relieved to know that Natasha Romanoff was currently being held in the detention center. While the woman appeared to be back to herself, he wasn't about to take any chances. The doctors were going to go over her with a fine tooth comb before she was going to be allowed anywhere near Hawkeye.

"I want to send him for x-rays before we try to debride his wounds," Banner continued as he started an IV and quickly injected a broad spectrum antibiotic and pain killer into Clint's arm. As the pain killer began to take effect, Clint's body slowly relaxed.

"Whatever you need," Fury said as he took in Clint's pain drawn, pale, sweaty face. The archer really had looked better. Still, if Banner said he was going to be okay, Fury was inclined to believe him. "How long do you think he'll be out of commission?"

"The leg alone will take six weeks to heal properly. Beyond that, it's up to him," Banner said. Absently, he rested a hand on Clint's feverish forehead now that the initial exam was over. "I'll know more once the x-rays are in."

"Keep me informed," Fury stated before he turned and left the room.

OOOOO

Several minutes later, Clint was cleaned up and in, his x-rays taken and now he was settled into a more permanent bed in the medical center. Banner had just finished doing what he could do for the cauterized wounds and was now working on properly splinting the broken bones. They were going to have to be happy with a brace until the wounds healed properly.

For his part, Clint was aware that his surrounds had changes and that for the most part the pain had lowered to a tolerable level but he couldn't quite bring himself to wake up. He couldn't quite care enough to find out what was going on. Instead, he enjoyed the relative lack of pain and the warmth. Settling a little deeper into unconsciousness, Clint felt the last vestiges of anxiety disappear.

Rogers and Stark were on either side of Clint's bed, prepared to wait forever for the archer to come around. Both had taken the time to change into civilian clothes but not much else.

"I knew this was a bad idea," Tony grumbled as he watched the archer sleep.

"It doesn't matter now," Steve retorted. "At least thanks to this we have Agent Romanoff back."

"Yeah, great, just was we need, another reason to watch over Hawkeye like, well, a hawk," Tony hissed.

"Maybe not, if Natasha is cured," Steve said. He watched as Clint's muscles slowly began to relax as the drugs kicked in. The lines around his eyes and mouth slowly began to relax as well as the pain receded.

"That's a pretty big 'if'," Tony said. He'd always felt that Black Widow was a little too shady. It could be because he'd trusted her before he found out she was an agent. The woman was a chameleon. That made it that much more difficult to trust her. After seeing what the woman had done to Clint, Stark wasn't sure he was ever going to be able to trust the woman, ever.

"It beats the alternative," Steve said.

"I suppose," Tony agreed. Tired of the conversation, he settled back into the chair and prepared to wait. They were headed home. He knew that once they reached Avengers' Tower that Pepper would be there to watch over the archer. Until then, though, his girlfriend had tasked him with that job. He fully intended to do it. It was either that or face the wrath of Pepper, never a good alternative.

OOOOO

Drifting lazily in the currents of his mind, Clint heard dimly several voices speaking. It sounded like they were miles away so he couldn't quite hear what they were saying. He wasn't sure if he really cared what they were talking about. It was just nice to lie there and not feel pain or fear or cold. Still, the voices were vaguely familiar and he supposed he should find out what they were talking about. It could be a mission. Clint had never missed a mission and didn't want to start now.

The light above his head was bright. Clint had to blink his eyes a few times to adjust them. Even still, he could only open his eye lids a slit against the brilliance above him. Somewhere above him, Clint heard a low moan. The talking around him, no longer a million miles away, abruptly stopped. Swallowing thickly, Clint tried to lick his dry lips only to find that his tongue was just as dry. "Water?" he whispered.

The brilliance was momentarily blocked by a dark shape and then a straw was gently pressed against his lower lip. Sucking greedily at the cool, clean water, Clint would have had more but the straw was removed. Blinking again the try to clear his eyes, the archer found Pepper bending over him, a cup with a straw sticking out of it in one hand. Her other hand was now running through his close cropped hair.

"Hello, you," Pepper said, her voice quiet. Clint's eyes were still slitted against the light hanging over his head. Sensing the reason, Pepper absently pushed the shade so that the light was now pointed over Clint's left shoulder. The relief was immediate.

"Hi," Clint managed as his now focusing, blue eyes took in his surroundings. Just behind Pepper, trying to be unobtrusive, stood Tony Stark, Steve Rogers and Bruce Banner. The trio had various expressions of concern on their faces. For a split second Clint wondered if he'd died.

"You're going to be okay," Pepper assured the archer when the momentary fear played through his eyes. "Now that we have you back in the Tower, a plastic surgeon is going to repair the damage to your leg then you'll have to wear a boot for a while until the bones heal."

Suddenly feeling exhausted, Clint didn't have the strength to speak but he glanced over at Banner for confirmation. A slow grin spreading across his face, Bruce nodded.

"Tasha?" Clint breathed. He wasn't entirely sure what happened back in the cave but he knew that he wouldn't have made it without Natasha's help. He hoped desperately that the woman hadn't been returned to Cave. As much as the woman was not his partner anymore, he didn't want her to suffer at the maniac's hand.

"She's the reason we found you," Pepper said. Satisfied that the water was staying down, she brought the cup back and let Clint drink some more. "Fury has her down in detention. Somehow she seems to be back. Fury just wants to make absolutely sure before he lets her out."

"Cognitive recalibration?" Clint asked with a slight smile gracing his not quite so dry lips.

The look of confusion that spread across the blonde woman's face was almost worth it. Still smiling slightly, Clint felt his eye lids flicker a few times before they finally slammed shut. Tasha was here. He was going to be okay. Nothing else seemed to matter. Content for the first time in months, Clint allowed his mind to shut off as sleep overtook him.

"Sleep well," Pepper said as she settled back down into the chair beside the bed. She pretended to not notice the three men who continued to hover in the background. As much as they tried to pretend otherwise, the men were just as concerned for the archer as she had been. Now, though, she sensed that Clint was finally on the mend. Once it was confirmed that Natasha was okay too, the world would be all right again, until the next time the world fell apart. Still running her hand through Clint's hair, she prepared to wait, for as long as it took.

THE END

_Hello! I'll be amazed if anyone is still reading this story. Sorry for the long delays. I'll hopefully do better on my next story, whatever that's going to be about. I hope you enjoyed this. I feel like I rushed the ending but I think my endings suck at the best of times anyway. I just don't want to keep dragging things out. I think I tortured poor Clint enough, right?_

_Thanks for sticking with me. Any reviews or possible ideas of other stories would be greatly appreciated!_

_Susanne_


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